Happy Easter
by CD1996
Summary: A ridiculous bit of feel-good cheese and fluff involving the Easter holiday, Cadbury Eggs, and a pair of bunny ears.


"Oh, Satchmo…" Neal crooned, setting down his wares and stooping in the Burke's vestibule to affectionately ruffle the champagne lab's velvet ears. "What have they _done_ to you?"

The affronted pooch's hindquarters wriggled to and fro with the enthusiastic movement of his tail, encouraged by Neal's scritches beneath his ears and along his neck that were meant to avoid the ridiculous (but admittedly, pretty adorable) bunny ears attached to his head.

"Believe it or not," El's voice drifted in as she dried her hands on a dishtowel and entered from the hallway, then dropped to a stage whisper, "Those were Peter's idea."

Neal glanced up at Peter's radiant wife from where he was crouched on the tile floor with Satchmo, breaking into a grin. She smiled warmly back at him as he stood, juggling the bottle of wine and beribboned bouquet of lilacs and lilies he'd brought as thanks for the Burkes' holiday invitation.

"Happy Easter, Neal."

"Happy Easter, Elizabeth," Neal returned, accepting her abbreviated hug with a peck on the cheek and handing her the bottle.

She made an appreciative noise and examined the bottle of Burgundy with approval before spinning around and heading into the kitchen. Neal took the steps down into the living room just as Peter entered from the patio and came through the dining room to greet Neal, who was still holding the flowers.

"Oh, _she_ gets a fancy bottle of wine, _I_ get flowers. Nice."

Neal grinned sunnily, thrusting the bouquet at Peter with a perfunctory "Happy Easter". Peter shook his head, but took the ribbing by making a show of smelling the fragrant blooms and batting his eyelashes at Neal. "My favorite. Neal, you shouldn't have."

Neal laughed outright, unable to help himself. Even now, he always entered the Burke household tentatively, as if it were a bubble he was only meant to observe but never really partake in. The fact that he was welcomed with increasing ease each time both startled (though one would be hard pressed to witness evidence of that) and flabbergasted him. Despite every natural instinct that screamed the opposite, something equally as inherent drew him in to these cherished moments.

He was grateful.

El's roast leg of lamb and potatoes with vegetables was well complimented by the wine and comfortable conversation; the late afternoon meal on the Burke's cozy patio left Neal feeling satiated and warm inside despite the slight nip in the breeze as the sun dipped lower in the sky.

"Dessert, boys?" El offered, gently batting Neal's hand away as he reached across the table to help gather the dishes.

Neal groaned approvingly, but demurred. "Maybe in a little while? Between this and June's brunch earlier, I'm pretty stuffed."

Peter's expression was mutinous. "A good stuffing is exactly what you need, Neal. You're too skinny anyway."

"Oh, Peter, you can wait a little bit, " El chided, piling more dishes atop one another. She bent to kiss her husband's nose then offered a wry smile to Neal and whispered aside, "He just wants to use the kitchen torch on the crème brulee."

Peter grumbled under his breath, but relented and stood to gather another load of dishes once Elizabeth had taken hers inside. He nodded to the remaining crock left on the table and Neal scooped it up triumphantly, finally feeling useful, following Peter inside. They carefully worked out a waltz of depositing dishes, washing, and putting things away before Elizabeth shooed the men out of her domain with a vague hint about seeing something they might be interested in out on the coffee table.

The suggestion was not lost on Peter, who uttered such an astonishingly out-of-character whoop that Neal had no choice but to trail after him. He peered curiously over Peter's shoulder as the older man hastily ripped open an envelope and studied a hand-scrawled note that contained nothing more than a ridiculous riddle.

Neal blinked. Then he gaped as Peter grinned wolfishly and brandished the note in front of him.

"You're not actively serious."

"Oh, yes."

"Peter. An Easter basket?"

The older man nodded, his enthusiastic smile dimming only marginally as he poked Neal in the chest. "You might want to help with these clues too, Smartass, because if I know El, she's done one up for you, too."

Neal felt his shoulders and expression drop with surprise. "Really?" he asked softly. If this was Peter and Elizabeth's shtick, why wasn't Peter acting a little more affronted? Wasn't he intruding?

Peter mistook Neal's shock for reluctance, because he nodded encouragingly, leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, "Cadbury Eggs."

Now, Neal swallowed reflexively as the mention of such an ordinary candy treat actually made his mouth water. As a child, he'd desperately wanted one of the sweet candy eggs when his classmates had gone on and on about them and he saved the loose change he found lying around in the couch cushions or in the washing machine until he'd had enough to purchase a box of them. He'd made himself sick devouring them all and hadn't been able to stomach one since. Apparently, the hiatus just ended.

Neal arched an eyebrow, worrying the inside of his lip for just a second before snatching the clue from Peter's hand. He hummed admiringly. "This is pretty good."

"Yeah," Peter agreed. "El used to _suck_ at these. I mean, she's gotten better over the years with my keen influence –"

Neal snorted.

"—But this. This is a piece of work."

They fell silent for a brief moment, heads together, Peter holding the scrap of paper while Neal tapped his index finger against his lips thoughtfully. After reading it through, both men nodded to each other, grinning.

"Mozzie," they chorused.

"All right, we got this," Peter crowed.

Neal agreed. Mozzie was cryptic, sneaky, and wove peculiar clues, but surely could prove no match for the two of them.

Two hours, three frustrating clues, a paperclip chain, and a rehung closet door later, Neal and Peter were lounging triumphantly against the couch cushions, inspecting their wares like children.

Elizabeth grinned from her vantage point in the dining room archway, leaning against the trim with a fragrant cup of caramel macchiato nestled between her hands. She wasn't sure who she was enjoying more – Peter with his tried but true glee over his favorite goodies, a new pair of patented "cute socks", and other adult trinkets – or Neal, with his wide-eyed and genuine delight each time he found something new hidden in the depths of green saran-grass.

Neal had his long legs criss-crossed beneath him on the cushions, his basket situated in his lap as he meticulously peeled the colorful foil away from a Cadbury egg, considering.

"It's not a safe that needs cracking," Peter chided, having already gnawed down his egg to the crème filling, scooping the rest out with his finger.

Neal glanced aside and did a double-take, aghast. "Peter, that's disgusting."

"Oh, and how do you eat yours? You don't really think you can split that thing open without crushing it, do you?" came the rebuke.

Neal paused briefly at the challenge, contemplating for show before he maneuvered deft and dexterous fingers to gently pry the chocolate apart and reveal the fondant egg yolk. He triumphantly presented the perfect oval halves in his open palms.

Peter stared for a long moment. "I've never seen that done before," he admitted, clearly flabbergasted.

Raising one of the halves in a mock "cheers", Neal grinned proudly and proceeded to savor it like a rare oyster before the two of them ended up snorting and laughing with the utter ridiculousness of it and he conceded that, despite his definition of taste, he could snarf a Cadbury Egg down like any other Average Joe.

Eventually digging into a second egg – an indulgence that Satchmo attempted to thwart, until Elizabeth gave him his own Easter treat from _The Greatest Cake _("Seriously, Neal…now your little undercover business is dabbling in _dog treats_?") – they finished out the evening with a spirited game of "Back Alley" (in which Elizabeth was beginning to impress the hell out of Neal with her ability to bluff and take tricks), along with coffee and Peter's long-awaited for and positively amazing crème brulee.

"Another one for the road?" Peter asked, holding up another of the eggs as he puts the rest of Neal's stash in his basket.

Neal held up his free hand in polite refusal. "Nah. I'll save the rest. Cadbury Eggs are kind of like days in Vegas." At Peter's confused expression, he offered, as he adjusted the tilt of his hat over his brow, "More than two, and you just feel like crap."*

Peter's eyebrow rose with curiosity, but he was shrewd enough to refrain from actually asking. Just barely. The reference was definitely enough to make Peter's

head spin with questions as to how and why Neal could make such a statement, never mind the incongruous notion of Neal actually cutting _that_ loose in Vegas. Another time, perhaps. For now, Neal was relaxed and content with the events of the day in a way he rarely observed in the younger man, who was accepting Elizabeth's hug with a soft smile and another earnest "Thank you."

Walking toward the door, Peter handed Neal his basket. "Send us a message, let us know you got back safely."

"Will do. Thank you, Peter. This was…nice."

Neal's eyes were so intensely grateful that all Peter could do was nod, feeling a little awkward.

"You're welcome, really. See you in the morning."

Neal dipped his chin and touched the brim of his trilby in acknowledgement, stepping out into the early spring night to head home. Pater watched him go, feeling strangely protective, until Neal's silhouette disappeared down the sidewalk.

Happy Easter, indeed.

**A/N - ***Sadly, not my quote. As I wrote this piece, I was watching Bones, and anyone familiar with the series will recognize this quote from Dr. Lance Sweets.


End file.
